Trekkies At The Renaissance Faire - “Shat Ne’re By The Food Booths”

Full disclosure time: my wife’s a card-carrying Renny who can balance two full tankards of the King’s good ale on her ample, corseted bosoms, while her cleavage houses all her non-period possessions like cel and I.D. And while we’re casting the first stone, I myself own pirate boots and can quote several Robert Burns poems. On the other side, I’ve enjoyed the thinly veiled morality plays of Shatner and Nemoy, especially when stylized lighting is in use over Kirk’s fierce, alien-seducing eyes. Having once been dragged to a Star-Con, (once,) I can say it was much more difficult to resist bitch-slapping Klingons and Romulans than troubadours and buskers.

Either of these questionable endeavors would be easy fodder for ridicule on their own. But combined, the elements form a cultural bond of such acrid toxicity that even stalwart social outsiders are left watery-eyed and gasping for air. This phenomenon of Starfleet personnel mingling with saucy wenches must have some basis in obscure geek mythology for it to occur simultaneous all over the country like cat-ladies or Starbucks. Though you’ll see nary a red-shirt amongst th’ gentle crew, as they nae wish to k'yak on yon turkey leg. Perhaps these misguided travelers make a veiled reference to Episode #26, “Assignment: Earth,” in which the landing party ogles a tail-end-of-the-60’s Teri Garr dressed like a hip “That Girl.” Or they tried to beam into WWII Germany (”The City on the Edge of Forever" episode #28) but missed. Can you write off the paradox with a simple, “Computer, initiate ancient Earth festival?” Are they proposing to have landed in the 16th century, or at a modern historical re-creation?

My instinct is to ask them their motivations, but I have fear because I do not understand. The same fear that my youthful mohawk and earrings brought to light in high-school football players. To wit; I could easily take them if any trouble arose, but dare I risk exposure to their disease? Does with understanding come complicity? Will I be poring over the schematics of Miranda-class escape pods? Will pointing out their distance (at least twice-removed) from reality be the final psychic pummeling that pushes them off the short-bus, where a prior overdose of gamma-radiation causes a startling metamorphosis to occur, thereby allowing my sorry ass to be smeared across the fairgrounds?

The need to belong is a reoccurring theme in mankind’s makeup. It’s embossed on our DNA as sure as Johnny Depp is forever saddled with “Wino Forever” on his arm. But rarely do you see such a blatant show of man’s urge to be ostracized. Anyone can find rejection of jocks or suits without even trying, but to be shunned by another class of dorks takes a reckless dedication that few possess. We should worship these bold individuals the way Indigenous Americans revered homosexuals. Or at least the way Bud salutes any poor slob with a powerful thirst and $1.29 for a tallboy. But instead, we’re confused and confounded that they’ve compounded the nerd quotient like Jesse McCartney playing Dungeons & Dragons.

Please forward all complaints to Starfleet Command, who will remove your chevrons for initiating an unauthorized mission, violating the prime directive, and being the reason why they hate America.

-Ewan Wadharmi

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